Goodbye to Yesterday
by paperscout
Summary: Rachel always intended to become a star and forget her horrible years in Lima. Until she realizes that maybe Lima wants to forget her, too. Written for a prompt at the LJ glee angst meme.
1. Chapter 1

Written for a prompt at the glee_angst_meme on LiveJournal-

_"2010-11 Junior Year; Thunderclap_  
_Berry, Rachel: Not Pictured._  
_It's funny how four words can hurt like a knife to the chest."_

**Summary:** Rachel always intended to become a star and forget her horrible years in Lima. Until she realizes that maybe Lima wants to forget her, too.

**Spoilers:** Through 2x01, to be safe.

**Warnings:** Language.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, or any music from Moulin Rouge or by Sarah McLachlan.

**Author's Notes:** This is technically set in season two, but for the purpose of this fic, the new characters don't exist. I'm not caught up and I don't think I can write them with as little as I've seen of them so far. It's also my first Glee fic ever, so please feel free to rip it apart and tell me what I can do better next time =) And thank you to my lovely friend panpipe/proudfoot on LJ for being an awesome beta!

* * *

The Glee club members were sprawled out across the choir room after school, waiting for practice to begin. The end of the school year was drawing near, as evidenced by the yearbooks that were presently being enthusiastically exchanged for recording embarrassing memories as proof of their teenage friendships.

"Santana Lopez," Puck announced, standing on a chair in front of the rest of the group, scribbling on a page of the annual McKinley Thunderclap as he spoke. "Most likely to poke your eye out with her artificially enhanced boobage." Santana swatted at him angrily as he tossed the book to Artie.

Artie opened it back up and flipped through the pages before deciding on a Glee kid to focus on. "Mike Chang. Most likely to get filthy rich dancing on TV." He finished writing and looked up. "Assuming Brittany doesn't do it first."

"I tried that once," Brittany informed them sadly, "but it broke."

Kurt rolled his eyes, smiling, as he took the yearbook from Artie. He glanced around the room to see who hadn't yet been targeted for their future predictions. His eyes landed on Rachel, who was sitting off to the side with a textbook in her lap, working out math problems while the rest of the club joked around. Leave it to Rachel to refrain from joining in on the fun in favor of aiming for greatness.

"Rachel Berry." Kurt skimmed through the pages to find the "B" section. Rachel looked up at the mention of her name, but didn't speak. "Most likely to spend all day singing her ass off while life passes her by..." Kurt's finger trailed along the page before stopping and looking up questioningly at his fellow diva. "Rachel Berry, Not Pictured."

"The fuck, Berry?" Puck inquired. "You're like, completely mental about making sure shit's perfect for your yearbook pictures."

"I am not _mental_," Rachel protested. "Yearbook photos do not reflect kindly on those who fail to prepare appropriately." She swallowed hesitantly before continuing: "Unfortunately, this year I was the victim of an unforgiving facial blemish that didn't heal in time for picture day, and I was unable to rearrange my busy schedule for reshoots."

"If you're talking about your nose, I'm pretty sure you'll be skipping picture day for the rest of high school," Santana mocked.

"Well, perhaps I will." She returned her attention to her homework.

"Whatever," Kurt said, waving his hand dismissively before turning back to their game. "Mercedes Jones!"

Rachel's brows turned inwards as she willed herself not to look up. She wanted this day to be over, for everyone to pack away their silly yearbooks and not even mention the word again until next year's prints. She'd deal with that then, but she didn't want to deal with this now. It was bad enough she'd have to come up with an excuse to explain to her fathers why she wasn't bringing a yearbook home to add to their shelves of past editions and singing trophies she'd won at competitions year after year, but it was even worse to have to think about the real reason why. She'd tried her best to forget, and she'd been successful for the most part, but today was the one day she just couldn't pretend nothing had happened.

* * *

Rachel Berry was always prepared. For everything, really, but particularly for the annual yearbook picture day. In this case, prepared meant packing three extra changes of clothes, her best shampoo & conditioner, a hair dryer, and at least a quarter of the makeup she owned.

Yes, Rachel Berry was absolutely and unequivocally prepared for picture day. And more specifically, for the possibility of being slushied on picture day.

She went directly to the choir room before school to hang up her extra outfits. It didn't offer the most protection, but it would keep them more wrinkle-free than they would be folded in her locker. Besides, everyone knew where her locker was, but not everyone was willing to set foot in the choir room. And she felt certain her fellow Glee club members would leave her backup wardrobe alone.

As she finished smoothing out the slight creases that had burrowed their way into one of her skirts on the ride to school, the three girls who claimed dual membership to both Glee and the Cheerios sauntered into the room, carrying stark poster boards and laughing about something Rachel hadn't heard. They stopped when they saw her, not caring to let her in on the joke they shared.

"Shouldn't you be in class, man hands?" Santana smirked at the smaller girl.

"Shouldn't you?" Rachel questioned in return.

"Coach Sylvester got us out of class to make posters for the pepper rally," explained Brittany.

"Pep rally," Quinn corrected automatically. "They're prepping the gym now, so we're working in here. No one can see our signs before the rally, so..." Quinn trailed off pointedly, clearly indicating it was time for Rachel to leave.

"Even though I'm sure the slogans you'll come up with to attempt to inject some cheer into the school body would be the highlight of Jacob Israel's gossip blog, I can assure you that I have no intention of stealing your thunder," Rachel asserted. "And yes, I was just leaving anyway." She scooped up her duffel bag of hair products and makeup off the floor and started towards the door.

"What's with the closet overspill?" Quinn pointed at the clothes she was leaving behind. "You know you can only get your picture taken for the yearbook once, right?"

"If our peers decide to refrain from gracing me with any slushy facials today, I will collect my emergency outfits at the end of the day after Glee practice," she responded.

Brittany looked to Santana, confused. "How come her emergency outfits just look like her regular clothes? Whenever we play doctor, all you wear is-" Santana elbowed her sharply, resulting in a dull "ow" from Brittany as she rubbed her arm.

Quinn winced. "Gross. Keep it in your pants, Britt."

"I'm usually not wearing them when we do that," Brittany whispered to herself, hoping to avoid another jab from her sort of-girlfriend.

Santana rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the non-Cheerio in the room. "You're such a drama queen, Berry."

"I just prefer to be prepared for any potential adversity, there's nothing wrong with that," Rachel concluded, adjusting the strap on her shoulder and continuing past the girls to the exit.

"I prefer not to be a freak, but whatever gets your rocks off," Santana muttered.

Rachel faltered in her steps briefly, but didn't let it show. It was just another day of high school. She wouldn't let Santana get to her. There was nothing different. Never anything different.

* * *

By the time the lunch bell rang, Rachel had managed to avoid any potential slushy attacks from her more popular classmates, though she had almost become the victim of a hostile ink leak from her own pen. It briefly occurred to her how ironic it would be if she wound up unintentionally sabotaging her own clothes on one of the few days the other students mysteriously decided to leave her alone. But she pushed the thought aside, determined not to let any negativity, even harmless thoughts like that one, creep into her mind on a day when vigilance was even more important than usual.

As she flung open the door to the choir room, she was greeted immediately by the startled face of Will Schuester, on his way out to the hallway Rachel was leaving.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Schue," she greeted cheerily, failing to notice his surprise quickly fade into an unanticipated shade of pity as he realized who was standing in front of him.

"Rachel..." he started.

Her eyebrows creased with worry as she finally took note of her choir teacher's demeanor. "Is everything alright, Mr. Schue?"

"I was just on my way to Principal Figgins' office..." He paused, shifting ever so slightly.

But it was enough.

Before he could form his next words, Rachel's eyes glided over his shoulder to the freshly ironed clothes she had left behind earlier that morning.

The clothes that were now spattered irredeemably with red paint.

Will stepped aside as Rachel silently moved past him, farther into the choir room and closer to the site of the vandalism, her mouth open slightly with the faintest hint of shock.

"Rachel, I'm so sorry," he offered lamely. Rachel clamped her mouth shut and squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to find something, _anything_ positive in this new development. When she failed to provide any response, Will continued. "I don't know who would do this, but we're going to find out, okay?"

Rachel forced her eyes open and turned back around to face her teacher. "It's okay, Mr. Schue," she started softly. "My yearbook picture is scheduled for next period, and I still have the outfit I'm wearing, which was my first choice after all, so..."

Will smiled at his young ingenue, altogether missing the quiver in her voice as she attempted to reassure herself more than him that everything would be just fine. "That's a good attitude. I'm sure you'll still get a great photo."

She smiled weakly and nodded in return.

"I'm still going to talk to Figgins, and I'll check with the Glee club during rehearsal. Maybe one of them saw someone come in here between classes," he suggested.

"Don't." Her voice was still just as soft, but more authoritative than it had been in the previous moment. Will looked at her curiously. "I'm sure if anyone had seen something they'd have already come forward. I just..." she faltered. "I'd rather them not know. If you can understand."

He nodded his agreement. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

Will placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "High school only lasts four years, Rachel. When you're off at college, and out in the real world, it will be like none of this ever happened. Everyone will look back at this yearbook and see a wonderfully talented girl with a smile on her face, and so will you. Nothing more."

Rachel drew herself up, regaining her usual air of confidence and forcing the smile Will was talking about onto her face. "Thanks, Mr. Schue. You're absolutely right. At best, I'll be able to draw upon times like these for my leading roles, and at worst, it will all seem like nothing but a bad dream."

Convinced that Rachel was back to her usual perky self, Will opened the door for a second attempt at an exit. "Are you going to stay here during lunch?"

"Yes, please," she replied.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," he said. "See you at practice?" She gave a sharp nod and Will allowed the door to close gently behind him.

The metallic click of the door slipping back into place signaled Rachel to walk over and place the few possessions she had brought with her in the front row of chairs, sitting down next to them. She began to hum absentmindedly as she opened her purse and brought her brush up to her hair. She was still determined to look her best for the picture. After all, as she had told Mr. Schuester, she still had one outfit in tact. Whoever had tried to sabotage her wardrobe hadn't fully succeeded, and her yearbook memory would not suffer for their attempt.

Her humming faded off as she called to mind a song to rehearse, a song appropriate for her determination not to let her vandals get past the defenses she'd become so skilled at keeping in place.

"_I follow the night,_  
_Can't stand the light."_

Rachel laid the brush down next to her purse, continuing on:

"_When will I begin  
To live again?"_

She rose slowly from her seat, allowing the emotion the music brought to overtake her as she sang to the empty room.

"_One day I'll fly away,  
Leave all this to yesterday."_

Isn't that what Mr. Schue had said? Tomorrow would make this day Rachel's yesterday, and the days after that would keep passing by until all of this was nothing but a distant memory, a remnant of a past she would rise above, spreading her wings and leaving all of this heartache behind.

"_What more could your love do for me?  
When will love be through with me?"_

The tormenting of her peers would mean less than nothing when she was out of this town. Nothing could stop her. They could never hold her back, no matter how determined they were to try. Her entire life was still waiting to be lived, and she was going to fulfill her dreams, every last one of them. No one could take that from her.

"_Why live life from dream to dream?  
And dread the day when dreaming ends?"_

The music Rachel heard solely in her head swelled with the break in lyrics. She closed her eyes, dizzy with the rush of excitement as she imagined herself years from now, her picture on a billboard mingling with the bright lights of Times Square while an adoring crowd waited in hushed anticipation for her melodies to reach out to them in one of the intimate theaters brushing up against Broadway.

She couldn't stop the broad smile that broke out across her face as she passionately rejoined the orchestra playing between her ears.

"_One day I'll fly away,  
Leave all this to yesterday."_

Everything would be better then. She would be appreciated, finally. She wouldn't be Rachel Berry, Glee club loser and social pariah. She would be Rachel Berry, the sweetheart of contemporary musical theater, on top of the world. _Her _world. Everyone would love her, and everyone would _know _her. Things would be _different_.

"_Why live life from dream to dream?"_

Rachel opened her eyes instinctively, knowing that if an audience was here, she would need to finish the song with an emotional connection, giving them an intimate view into her soul.

The fantasy world she had conjured up in those few precious moments she'd let herself get lost in the music disintegrated mercilessly as Rachel's eyes fluttered open, landing immediately on the ruined clothing she had completely forgotten was even there.

Her voice wavered. Rachel's _voice_, the one thing in her life that never failed her, wavered as her eyes remained fixated on the massacre staring her down with a feverish intensity.

"_And dread the day..."_

She reached out a hand she didn't even realize had started to tremble, trailing her fingers down the glaringly red stains, long dried since their inception.

"_...when dreaming ends."_

She drew in her breath, trying to prepare for the soft, heartfelt ending the song required.

"_One day..."_

She didn't blink. She couldn't. Even as she felt tears pricking at the insides of her lashes, her eyes wouldn't close again, forcing her to remain utterly incapacitated and grounded in reality.

Vaguelyaware that her vocal training had taught her better techniques at breath control than she was presently exhibiting, she drew in another short breath, clutching at the soft fabric with a sudden ferocity that unrepentantly stole all the blood from her knuckles.

"'_I'll fly away..."_

She faltered again.

And as she prepared for yet another breath, her hands gripped the hanging skirt even tighter, and she felt herself pitch forward, unintentionally tugging the skirt off its hanger. She reached out to the wall, catching herself with her still shaking hand.

She could do this. She _had_ to do this. Singing was her life. It was all she was. All she had.

Her mouth opened again, and her lips began to move, almost imperceptibly.

"_Fly, fly a-"_

As a shudder ripped unexpectedly, violently, through her small frame, she choked.

And in the mere second it took for her choke to turn into a gasp, she was blindsided by a dam bursting inside her mind. Overcome by a wave of thoughts she'd been pushing back and hoping never to let herself know, the truth hit her then, and it hit her _hard_.

She'd brought _four outfits_ to school that day. Even her fellow unpopular Glee clubbers had all come to school prepared only with the outfits they had on. And not because they didn't care what they looked like, but because they weren't worried about getting slushied on picture day. They never were. _Because they never had been_. It was the one day of the school year slushying was unofficially put on hold, because no one wanted to risk accidentally getting the drink on their own clothing.

But Rachel knew some of her peers would take that gamble for her, because they'd done it before. Somehow, she was the one person in the entire school that was _loathed _enough to warrant that kind of daring. A perpetual outcast to the extent that she had automatically prepared, not for what would normally be considered the worst, but beyond that.

And she had been proven right.

Rachel slid down the wall as her body continued to fight for air. Her gasps turned into dry heaves, and she buried her face into the skirt she still clutched in her hands, no longer trying to regain control of herself or her voice, but wishing only to disappear back into her fantasy world.

She couldn't, though. It was already gone. Her realization started a chain reaction, and though she felt as if her entire being was crying out in a desperate plea to shut itself down and carry her away from reality, her mind was racing with thoughts too overwhelming and sinister to let her escape into the darkness she suddenly yearned for.

When she made it big on Broadway (and even now - _especially_ now - she refused to let herself think of it as an "if" instead of a "when," for the sake of what little sanity she was managing to hold onto in the moment), her biographers would look back to her days at McKinley. Just as she and Mr. Schuester had discussed. And yes, they would see a smiling girl staring up at them from the pages of the yearbook, a younger version of her future famous self. They wouldn't see how she had bravely roamed through the halls before having her picture taken, in spite of being so incredibly afraid of getting an ice cold slushy thrown in her face. They wouldn't see how she had shaken off the vicious attack against her belongings that had taken place earlier that same day. They wouldn't see how she held her head high as she was tormented and picked on by almost all of her classmates, and even the kids who, from all outward appearances, were her _friends_, on a near-daily basis.

But if she was lucky, and they were scouring the official copy of the McKinley High Thunderclap, filed away annually in the school library, they would see a naive girl smiling ignorantly back up at them from the pages, pathetically blind to the menacing graffiti her classmates would undoubtedly scribble across her face under the guise of childish humor, secretly masking an underlying malice Rachel had never truly been able to comprehend. That's what had been done to all of her yearbook photos since she was in grade school, and if she thought anything would be different this year, she would be just as foolish as her grinning photo would suggest.

And if she was unlucky, and her biographers decided to go straight to her fathers to procure her own personal copy of the Thunderclap, they would find a beautiful, shining face peering back at them from perfectly untouched pages. No graffiti, no hateful words scrawled when authority figures' heads were turned the other way. And no friends, writing to tell her they hoped to see her during the summer, or at the very least, during the next school year. No one had ever signed Rachel's yearbook, not since she started high school. Her pages were as pristine and flawless as her photo might still be in spite of the attempts against her, and if she thought anything would be different this year...well, she didn't. Nothing ever was. Even her Glee "friends" wouldn't sign her yearbook unless she directly asked, and even then she knew their comments would merely be generic well-wishing, not thoughtful, or representing anything remotely resembling true friendship.

This knowledge, which had previously merely been a nagging worry that she'd fought to keep buried in the back of her mind, had now become an inescapable fact. Rachel wasn't denying any of these negative thoughts anymore, but even if she was, she couldn't deny that, in spite of Mr. Schuester's suggestion that some formidable enemy had snuck into the choir room with the intent of vandalizing her property, the attack had come from much closer to home. For a random jock to have come to the choir room to ruin her outfits, they would have had to have known they were there. No one saw her walk into school that morning. And no one outside of Glee ever came to the choir room just for the hell of it.

Whoever did this, whoever was wishing for her humiliation and grief, was in Glee.

And just like that, Rachel knew that she wasn't safe anywhere. If she couldn't find solace and comfort here, where her talents were on display to their highest potential, who's to say she would ever find a home in Broadway? She knew the Glee club didn't appreciate her the way she felt they should. She knew they didn't always get along, with fault falling on her shoulders as often as theirs, in spite of her misguided attempts to win their friendships. She knew they didn't love her or care about her the way she secretly wished they would. But she didn't realize that after all this time they had spent together, all this time she had felt they'd maybe, just maybe gotten to know her a little, there were people frequenting this room after school who still flat out hated her.

And if they _knew_ her, and they still hated her, how could she ever expect anything to be different in the future?

Rachel's body shuddered noiselessly with the aftershocks of both her lack of air and the mental anguish she was unable to keep herself from indulging in. She realized faintly that one of her hands had become tangled in her hair, as if clawing the unwelcome thoughts from her very brain with her fingernails was somehow an option.

Her breathing slowed back to normal as she willed herself to calm down. This wasn't the type of behavior exhibited by a star. Then again, Rachel Berry didn't really feel very much like a star right now. She felt...alone.

Logically, if she allowed herself to think it, which she rarely did, she knew she was almost always alone. But somehow, she had managed to never let herself feel it it as profoundly as she did in this implausibly infinite moment.

She pulled back from the skirt still grasped firmly in her left hand, allowing her eyes to refocus as the darkness gave way to brightly colored spots, dancing across her vision before gradually fading away. Her grip loosened, and the ruined piece of clothing rested lifelessly on the pads of her fingertips, creases where she had held on so tightly now a seemingly permanent flaw in the fabric. She rubbed her thumb against the dips, just as she had traced the paint stains only moments earlier, and idly tucked away a mental note to iron them out when she got home, before realizing how stupid that train of thought was. There was no point in trying to patch together something that was already intrinsically and irreversibly destroyed.

A laugh escaped her mouth at the ridiculous parallel drawn between that thought and not only her currently fragile state of mind, but her entire high school existence. She _was_ that naively smiling girl in all her yearbook photos, always thinking everything would be better. Hang in there baby, one day you'll be a star, and nothing will be able to touch you.

She snorted again, exhaling through her nose. Santana was right, she was so damn overdramatic. Maybe that's why no one liked her. Maybe it wasn't about knocking her off her pedestal of _Rachel Berry, future star._ Maybe she was just another Lima loser after all. Maybe whoever did this just didn't want to remember her alongside the rest of their real friends. If they didn't want to remember her now, why would they want to remember her later? Maybe they shouldn't have to.

It didn't matter either way, she thought. Not right here, not right now. For once, her optimistically high opinion of herself and her life plans just weren't enough to overcome the self-doubt this calculated harassment had forced her to confront head on.

Balling the skirt up in her fist, Rachel pressed a shaky arm down onto the floor to push herself up. Her other hand pawed at the wall as she slid back up the same way she had collapsed, unsure of her own ability to stand on two legs. She twisted around as she stood, drawing in one breath at a time, not to sing, but just to survive. Her hands scraped recklessly at the watery trails her hot tears had blazed down her face, subsequently wiping them against the skirt she was wearing, erasing the existence of her breakdown to the best of her abilities.

Rachel allowed her forehead to knock lightly against the wall, screwing her eyes shut one more time as she counted to five in her head, giving herself time to regain control of at least her movements, if not her emotions.

Biting her lip, she turned back to her still-hanging clothes. She pulled them down, all at the same time, discarding the hangers she'd so carefully arranged them on. Walking over to the duffel bag she'd left with the rest of her things, she tugged the zipper open and folded the clothing into the bag. She zipped it shut once more, the faint sound mingling with the blood rushing through her head to compose a dissonant symphony, a bitter contrast to the smooth melody she'd been humming before.

Hiking the duffel bag up onto her shoulder, she gathered the remainder of her possessions into her arms. She swallowed hard and thrust her chin out, the action forcing her head to tilt upwards, mimicking the air of confidence and pride she always conveyed. She took strong, deliberate strides towards the choir room door, flung it open, and marched down the hallway.

But despite the facade on display, Rachel's confidence was gone. Her naivety was shattered, and she couldn't undo the things she had seen, or thought, or felt. So instead of rising above adversity, and knowing it was far too late to convince herself that the actions of her peers hadn't affected her, she continued through the hallway, past the cafeteria, past Miss Pillsbury's office, past the principal's office.

Past the line of students waiting to have their own pictures taken, and out the front doors of McKinley High School.

Broken and defeated, she forfeited picture day altogether, and Rachel Berry went home.


	2. Chapter 2

Written for a prompt at the glee_angst_meme on LiveJournal-

_"2010-11 Junior Year; Thunderclap  
Berry, Rachel: Not Pictured.  
It's funny how four words can hurt like a knife to the chest."_

**Summary:** Rachel always intended to become a star and forget her horrible years in Lima. Until she realizes that maybe Lima wants to forget her, too.

**Spoilers:** Through 2x01, to be safe.

**Warnings:** Language.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, or any music from Moulin Rouge or by Sarah McLachlan.

**Author's Notes:** See first chapter =)

* * *

Rachel was so focused on _appearing_ focused that she not only failed to actually continue working on her homework, but also to take note of the way Quinn was staring at her with an indiscernible expression on her face. Rachel may not have been aware of her, but Quinn was suddenly acutely mindful of the lack of bite in Rachel's reaction to Santana's personalized insult, a response that seemed purposely crafted to get the other kids to ignore her and move on to targeting someone else in their game.

_Rachel Berry, Not Pictured._

Quinn never realized four simple, completely innocuous words could produce such a throbbing ache in her chest.

She wasn't expecting it - not the caption that accompanied the blank space where Rachel's picture perfect grin should have been, nor the way reading it slashed at her insides like a dull blade - but in retrospect, perhaps she should have anticipated both.

* * *

It had been an accident.

Santana and Brittany were messing around with the paint for their banners, goofing off and pretending they were going to attack each other with brushes, when Quinn got annoyed and lunged at both of them to snatch the paintbrushes from their hands. She didn't look up until she'd already started to move, so she wasn't prepared for Brittany to stand, miming as if she was going to pour the bucket over her best friend's head.

Quinn knocked against Brittany's knees, throwing her just off balance enough to drench Rachel's outfits in the red liquid. Santana barely managed to stifle a laugh, Brittany looked slightly mortified, and Quinn just sat there, shock mingling with her prior annoyance.

They cleaned up the proof of the disaster easily enough. The paint had been a last minute switch from markers, so everyone else was already in home room when they brought it in. And they'd laid a tarp down on the floor, so Rachel's clothes truly were the only victims of the spill, at least as far as they could see.

Brittany wanted to tell Rachel, but Quinn and Santana talked her out of it. Quinn knew there was no way Rachel would believe it had been an innocent mistake. Especially considering Quinn herself had been the direct cause of Rachel's need for a backup wardrobe on at least two previous picture days. No, it was better for everyone if they just kept this secret to themselves.

* * *

Quinn's memories were interrupted as Mr. Schue finally arrived to the choir room for rehearsal. Apparently the other kids had just finished writing in the communal yearbook, as Finn presented it to Will upon his entrance.

"We all pitched in and bought a copy to keep for future Glee clubs," he told their teacher. "You know, so it won't get messed up like the ones in the library."

Will smiled brightly at all his students. "That's a really great idea, you guys, thanks. Now just make sure all of you sign it before you leave."

"Oh we have," said Mercedes. A few kids snickered, and they all smiled. Except, Quinn noticed, for Rachel. She had put away her textbook, but remained more quiet than she usually was. Quinn also knew Rachel was the only one who hadn't written anything in the yearbook. Understandable, she reasoned, since she wasn't in it, yet it somehow felt wrong that the brunette - who really was more or less the front woman of their club - wouldn't have her memory preserved alongside the rest of them in the 2010-2011 Thunderclap.

And it felt wrong that nobody else even seemed to care. That couldn't be true. Could it?

"So," Will addressed the club once again. "In the spirit of yearbook day, I hope some of you came prepared with songs reflecting on what the past year meant to you. Who would like to go first?"

Kurt's raised his hand with a flourish and walked to the front of the room as Will called his name. Quinn once again shot a furtive glance over to Rachel, who hadn't even made a move to be the first to sing. It wasn't like her. None of this was like her.

Quinn could be cruel, she was all too aware of it, particularly after joining Glee and being on the other end of the social ladder for a short time. And though sometimes she wished she were a kinder person, it wasn't often that she made any attempts to change her behavior, or filter her scathing words before they leapt out of her mouth and crawled under someone else's unwitting skin. But even Quinn couldn't help but wince as she recalled the last time she saw Rachel acting _this_ out of character. She'd willfully pushed the memory aside for so long, in an attempt to assuage her own guilt, but it was still there, tucked away in the back of her mind.

* * *

When she realized she must have accidentally left her history binder in the choir room earlier that morning, Quinn apprehensively made her way back to the rehearsal space after agreeing to meet Brittany and Santana in the cafeteria in five minutes.

"Quinn," Mr. Schuester called out from across the hall.

Quinn froze.

Mr. Schue was just leaving the choir room, and if he was coming from the choir room, he had to have seen the paint. She cursed herself mentally for leaving her binder behind. She undoubtedly would have already been high on the list of suspects of the crime, even without absentmindedly leaving evidence of her presence.

"You did a really good job on the song we rehearsed yesterday," he praised her. "I may have to give you another solo coming up." Quinn let out an internal sigh, relaxing enough to smile back at her teacher.

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," she said. "As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to practice for a bit during lunch." It was a great opportunity for a cover, she reasoned to herself, at least until Will's expression darkened slightly.

"Actually, Rachel's already there."

Of course she was. Quinn wasn't surprised, but she wasn't pleased either. She wished futilely that she didn't have to turn in her paper on the Roman Empire next period, so she could just wait until the end of the school day to retrieve her notes and avoid the undoubtedly furious diva's inquisition into the injustice that had been delivered to her possessions.

"I should tell you not to go in there," Will interrupted her train of thought. "But..." He contemplated his next sentence. "You and Rachel haven't been at each other's throats quite as much lately, and even though I know the two of you aren't exactly friends, I think she could use one right now."

Quinn's apprehension quickly melted into surprise at her teacher's words. Not only did he appear to know that something had happened to Rachel's clothes and not suspect her, but he actually wanted her to comfort the brunette? This was not at all what she had expected.

"Of course," Quinn smiled weakly, hoping he didn't notice that her response was equally as out of place. Sure enough, he smiled back like nothing was wrong, and walked past her towards the teacher's lounge.

"Quinn," Will called back suddenly, causing her to twirl around and face him. "You've really come a long way since you joined Glee. I'm proud of you."

She held her smile as firmly in place as she could until he had turned away from her and around the corner. Why did he have to say that? Quinn hated feeling guilty. She hadn't even done anything _wrong_ - not really anyway. Granted, she hadn't admitted to being the one responsible for ruining Rachel's excess wardrobe, but it's not like she'd done it on _purpose_.

And besides, she'd had Santana and Brittany help her spread the word that anyone who slushied Rachel Berry that day would have their own avalanche of fruity deliciousness when they'd least expect it. If Rachel managed to get through picture day with her appearance unscathed, she'd be less likely to call for an investigation to uncover the perpetrator of the choir room paint scandal. At least that's why Quinn told herself she had broadcast the warning. And besides, there'd be less drama to deal with during Glee club later that afternoon. Rachel was always the drama queen, and having her picture messed up definitely qualified for one of her tirades.

Quinn was suddenly reminded why she was standing in the hallway during lunch to begin with as a pitch-perfect melody reached her ears.

"_...leave all this to yesterday."_

Of course she would know Rachel's voice anywhere. It was a breathtaking sound - an opinion Quinn was positively loathe to admit she held - and she couldn't help but lean her head back against the wall next to the door and just listen to a few bars.

If Rachel was singing instead of barging through the doors in search of retribution, everything was probably alright. Quinn wasn't entirely sure how, as she knew the girl couldn't have miraculously overlooked the wreck. Then again, maybe she was just singing through her feelings, and would go on her witch hunt as soon as she'd finished. Quinn wouldn't put it past her.

Rachel's voice cut out, though the blonde knew the song wasn't quite finished yet. She peered through the tiny window pane on the door and saw the diva clearly lost in her own world, spinning around with her eyes shut and internalizing the orchestral rhythms that would eventually give way to the remainder of the piece.

Quinn spotted her missing binder lying next to the wall on the floor. It was close enough to her current spot; if she was careful, she could be in and out of the room without Rachel taking note of her company. She eased the door open gently, slipping in without a sound. Her eyes darted back and forth between Rachel and her binder, so she wasn't startled when the lyrics spilled from the other girl's mouth once again. Quinn took advantage of the sound to cover the slight scratching of her binder against the carpet as she gathered it up and turned back to her exit. Her hand grasped the edge of door, preparing for her escape, when something rather peculiar happened.

Rachel stopped singing.

Quinn knew this song. It was from _Moulin Rouge!_, one of her favorite musicals. She knew there was no break in between those words. And if there was one thing she knew about Rachel, it was that she didn't break anywhere but in the absolutely appropriate spots. Had she seen her? Would she demand to know what Quinn had been doing in between the time Rachel left the Glee room that morning and the time the vandalism had been discovered?

Rachel's voice picked up once more and Quinn let out the small breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She should have kept moving, taken the two simple steps required to be completely out of this bizarre danger zone. But instead, for reasons she couldn't explain, she risked a glance over to the small brunette.

The girl was fixated on her mutilated belongings, which Quinn had purposely ignored during her quick foray into the room. Quinn blinked as Rachel's voice broke again. Was she...shaking?

Before the Cheerio could even consider _considering_ approaching the singer, Rachel's knees buckled, beckoning her to the floor, her song completely disregarded as she fought for air.

Quinn froze, at a total loss as to what was playing out in front of her. Rachel's head burrowed into the skirt she'd taken down with her, pushing against the knees she'd pressed closely against her body. As her shoulders trembled fiercely, Quinn realized she was crying.

Part of her breathed a sigh of relief for herself that the girl was physically okay and Quinn wouldn't be morally obligated to intervene, but she couldn't stop the uneasiness she felt at the sight of the normally spirited junior collapsed in a sobbing mess on the floor.

Though she wanted to believe there was something else going on, another excuse for Rachel's current distress, Quinn knew there was only one possible cause. Any sliver of doubt would be immediately contradicted by the paint-splattered skirt clutched in Rachel's hands.

At last, Quinn's instinct to flee kicked into full gear. She took the last few steps out of the room and shut the door without making any unnecessary sound. She sprinted halfway down the hallway before she stopped to make sure she hadn't been followed. If Rachel caught her, she'd know she was the one who had been behind the assault on her belongings, and then Mr. Schuester would find out, and he'd seemed so pleased with her earlier, and then everyone else in Glee would...

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Where exactly was she going with this? Yes, she could admit, at least to herself, that she cared a little bit about what the rest of Glee and Mr. Schue thought of her. Things were going fairly well, why rock the boat? But that's just it- _things were going well_. She was getting along with most of them, and they with her. They wouldn't just jump to the conclusion that she'd committed such an act, even if Rachel accused her. And why would Rachel accuse her? Just because she'd been in the room? No, she and Santana and Brittany had covered their tracks. This couldn't, and wouldn't, be pinned on any of them.

Then why had Quinn's brain _shrieked _at her to run?

And why was her heart suddenly burning in such a strange, unpleasant way?

She didn't want to think about these things. Not about how maybe she should have just been honest about what happened. And definitely not about how maybe she should go back and try to, what? Comfort the girl? No, Quinn didn't want to think about these things at all.

And as it turned out, she didn't have to. Quinn watched as a much more composed Rachel Berry strutted down the hall past her, looking for all appearances back to her normal self. The principal's officedidn't even appear to be on Rachel's radar as she passed it by and headed straight for the room where the photos were taken.

Quinn had made up for her mistake, keeping the slushies away from the diva for the day, and thus allowing Rachel to make it to her picture just as poised and well-prepared as she had wanted to be. Quinn had done her part, so she knew she could stop feeling so damn guilty.

Being the HBIC she knew she was, the blonde cheerleader shoved all those terrible, annoying feelings into a tiny corner of her heart, convincing herself that's where they belonged. Not front and center in her mind, making her actually question herself and think about things. And certainly not tumbling out of her mouth, apologizing to Rachel and telling her the truth about what had happened.

No, locked away where she'd never reach it again was exactly where that aching pain belonged.

* * *

Quinn managed to pull herself back into reality just as Tina and Artie finished the duet they had prepared:

"_If you're lost, you can look,  
And you will find me,  
Time after time.  
Time after time."_

Their music faded out and the rest of the club applauded with smiles. The couple had happily gotten back together, and it seemed like a great song to celebrate the journey they'd gone through that year.

"Who wants to go next?" Will asked for the fourth time that afternoon. No one raised a hand. "I know school's almost out, but we're still a glee club, and you were all supposed to come with a song today."

Still no responses. Quinn noticed a couple other eyes, including Mr. Schue's, dart questioningly to Rachel, who seemed unprecedentedly interested in prodding a discarded water bottle cap on the floor with her flip-flop.

"Rachel?" the teacher prompted. Caught off guard, the brunette kicked the bottle cap a little too hard, sending it out of reach and forcing her to join the conversation.

"Sorry, Mr. Schue." A simple, three word response. And there was that dejected tone again. Quinn found herself wishing it would just disappear, be replaced by the girl's usual perkiness and cheer. But there it was.

"Wow, Miss Broadway herself doesn't have a song?" Kurt feigned shock, cocking his head to one side as he paused. "Yes, that was in fact the sound of a pig taking to the sky with his shiny new set of wings."

Santana mumbled something as she pulled a gleeful Brittany back down into her chair before she could run outside to look for this magical flying pig.

"Sorry to disappoint," Rachel apologized for the second time in less than a minute.

"Well I wouldn't go that far," said Mercedes. She and Kurt smirked at each other as Rachel's eyes slid back down to her feet. Quinn frowned involuntarily. Why was she the only one who noticed something was so off about the girl today? It was so painfully obvious. She didn't understand why none of the girl's friends would wake up and _do _something about it.

_What friends?_ a voice in her head rang out.

Oh.

"Alright, well if no one else bothered to prepare a song, I guess we'll have to end Glee early today," Will looked disappointed in his kids as he opened his mouth to proceed.

"I'll go."

Quinn recognized the sound of her own voice before she was able to stop the words from escaping past her lips.

"Thank you Quinn," he beamed at her, and motioned for her to take the front of the room. She uncrossed her legs as she willed her brain to catch up to her actions. Quinn had in fact prepared a song to sing today, just as Mr. Schuester had requested of them. What song was it? She couldn't remember now. Did she bring music? _What song_ _was she supposed to sing?_ Her memory was a fog, too focused on trying to tell her something else to bother providing her with the information she was requesting.

"I don't have any sheet music," she whispered to Brad as she approached the piano. He smiled at her and asked what song she wanted to sing. Quinn's nostrils flared as she rummaged around for an answer. But she hadn't needed to worry, as her mouth was once again a step ahead of her brain. She uttered a quiet response to their pianist and moved to stand in front of her friends. Quinn looked around the room, blinking, before remembering to nod at Brad that she was ready to begin. The first few notes trickled out of the piano, and as they came together to form the first chord, Quinn's voice rang out with the opening lyrics.

"_I will remember you.  
Will you remember me?"_

She had barely adjusted to the idea that this was the song her brain had been nagging her to sing before she also remembered how much she hated this song as a kid. Her mother had gone through a phase for several months where she would play it on repeat every time something was happening that she didn't want to deal with. Quinn remembered hearing the tune wafting through the corridors of her home after her parents had a big argument, or while her father was punishing her elementary school self for mediocre grades or unfinished chores. She intuitively turned it off any time she heard it come on the radio, or left if it started playing in a store. It reminded her too much of how her mother wasn't emotionally present for a large portion of her life, deferring all household decisions to Quinn's father and leaving her daughter alone to fend for herself as she grew up and learned how to deal with the obstacles she was faced with on her own.

"_Don't let your life pass you by,  
Weep not for the memories."_

She noticed Rachel look up at her briefly, probably trying to determine if Quinn was singing about her ex-boyfriend, or her ex-one night stand, or someone else entirely. They did tend to share the same interest in boys, and Quinn didn't know if Rachel was currently pursuing either of them, if she was attempting to gage whether or not Quinn would prove to be a threat in her advances.

"_I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to lose,  
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose."_

And really, Quinn couldn't figure out why she _was_ singing this song. This was supposed to be a song reflecting back on her year. Why did her instincts insist she sing this? What was she singing about? More specifically, who was she singing about? Certainly not her mother, or her family. She couldn't figure out the riddle her subconscious was throwing at her, let alone its answer.

"_Once there was a darkness, deep and endless night,  
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light."_

Rachel saw Quinn glance back at her and only held her gaze for a moment before bowing her head awkwardly. She didn't even make any attempt to give the impression that something else had caught her eye, Quinn realized. She just didn't want to look at Quinn. As with many of her thoughts that day, this discovery flustered the blonde, but didn't entirely phase her. After all, she guessed she kind of deserved it.

"_And I will remember you,  
Will you remember me?"_

She had recognized the skirt. The one Rachel clung to for dear life that day in the choir room. She wasn't sure how, exactly - she'd only ever paid enough attention to Rachel's style decisions long enough to mock them properly - but the scene had popped into her head the second Rachel had latched onto the garment.

"_Don't let your life pass you by,  
Weep not for the memories."_

Rachel had confronted her in the hallway last year about missing Glee. The less popular girl had actually _complimented_ Quinn's singing, saying they could use her voice in the club, and letting her know that when the rest of the school found out about her unbefitting pregnancy and kicked her to the curb, she and the rest of the Glee kids would still be there for her.

"_Remember the good times that we had?  
I let them slip away from us when things got bad."_

It had been an olive branch after years of Quinn actively spearheading the unofficial campaign to make Rachel's life absolute hell. Even though it was a year later, standing in the choir room, watching the scene play out in front of her, with Rachel whimpering piteously into that same yellow skirt, letting her tears fall on Quinn's paint without actually being able to intermingle with it, it suddenly felt like she had unintentionally thrown that same metaphorical branch directly back in the other girl's face.

"_It's funny how we feel so much, but we cannot say a word.  
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard."_

Quinn wondered if she would have done something differently if she'd known the girl hadn't gone to get her picture taken that day, hadn't rebounded back to her typical bubbly self as it had appeared. But she had known, hadn't she? She just didn't want to deal with it. She had willfully chosen to ignore the brunette's palpable suffering. She could tell herself it was okay, that she wasn't the one throwing slushies anymore, that even if she had been responsible for the paint, it hadn't been deliberate, but she knew, not-so-deep down, that still didn't make it okay. Even if she wasn't perpetuating the problem, she certainly wasn't helping. And after all Quinn had been through the previous two years, she should have known better. She did know better.

"_But I will remember you,  
Will you remember me?"_

But more than that, more than just feeling a troubling sense of responsibility, Quinn realized she actually cared. That was what startled her the most. The idea that the pint-sized diva would be left out of the yearbook - school edition, Glee edition, _her_ edition - felt wrong on so many levels. Not just because she was Rachel Berry, Glee superstar, and needed her memory preserved for future generations and biographers. But because she was just Rachel Berry, and Quinn kind of liked that. She was different, and a little strange, but she had stood by her when Quinn needed friends, and stood by the rest of the Glee kids in many of their times of heartache too. Why couldn't Quinn stand by Rachel during hers, too?

"_Don't let your life pass you by,  
Weep not for the memories."_

It had never really been about the picture, had it? It was about someone wanting to hurt her, devastate her confidence, victimize her. Quinn knew that hadn't been her intention, but Rachel didn't. Hell, Rachel didn't know she had anything to do with it at all. All she had seen was the aftermath, because that's all there had been to see. No explanations, no apologies, just the bloody remains of a vicious attack.

"_And I will remember you,  
Will you remember me?"_

She realized she was staring directly at Rachel now. The other girl didn't seem to have noticed, but Quinn knew the rest of the Glee club probably had. It was Rachel she was singing this song for, after all. She knew it, had known it since before the title had spilled out of her mouth as a request for musical accompaniment. It was just a foreign notion to embrace, that she was singing a sappy song about holding on to the good times and happy memories to Rachel Berry of all people. A song she herself hated, at that.

"_Don't let your life pass you by,  
Weep not for the memories."_

But maybe that was the point, after all. Maybe in her own, messed up way, this song had been her mother's form of apologizing to Quinn for all she had been unable to do for her. Maybe this was the best way for her to apologize to Rachel for all the things she had been unable to say and do back in the fall. If she suddenly felt the need to try to make things right between them, even if Rachel didn't exactly know things were wrong, maybe this was the way.

"_Weep not for the memories."_

But if it was, then why did Quinn's heart still ache in that sad, strange little way?

The sound of applause penetrated the silence Quinn's voice had left in its wake, signaling to the absent-minded girl that her song was finished, and she could sit down.

"That was fantastic Quinn, thank you," Mr. Schue congratulated her. "And for everyone who didn't sing today, you still need to come up with a song for next week, so get to work."

The teenagers gathered up their belongings and started filing out of the classroom, the conversation turning from yearbook signings to what kind of class pranks they could pull at the end of the year.

Quinn was the last to exit, taking her time to gather up her things. Mr. Schuester locked up behind her and offered a jovial goodbye as they parted ways. The cheerleader ambled down the familiar hallway, perturbed that the feeling of melancholy still hadn't quite left her. She spotted Rachel at her locker, dropping off her textbook and collecting a few more items to take home.

Before she knew what she was doing, as had become almost habitual that afternoon, Quinn approached the other singer.

"Hi," Rachel seemed startled to see Quinn standing so close to her, but still managed to offer the first greeting when Quinn failed to speak.

"Hi."

"Did you want something, Quinn?" Rachel prodded as the silence continued.

"Yeah. I, um," Quinn stuttered. What _did _she want? Then she knew. "I was wondering if you'd sign my yearbook."

The look of puzzlement that crossed Rachel's face at this unprecedented request would have made Quinn laugh in any other situation.

"In all the years we've gone to school together, you've never asked me to sign your yearbook," Rachel pointed out. "I'm not particularly sure what you're getting at with this, but-"

"I'm the one that wrecked your clothes on picture day."

The words flew out of Quinn's mouth before she could think twice about the ramifications. But as the seconds ticked by, the potential consequences were all that sped through her brain, waiting for Rachel to yell at her, or demand payment for the damages, or just...something- _anything_ but this overwhelming hush that had overtaken the already restrained girl.

"I know." The words Rachel finally chose to follow Quinn's admission of guilt were nothing if not bewildering, to say the least.

"You knew?"

"I saw you in the hallway between morning classes. You had flecks of paint on your cheek. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but after..." she trailed off, both girls fully aware of what she would have said.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Quinn wanted to know.

"It wouldn't have changed anything," came the girl's subdued reply. There were many times when Quinn couldn't tell if Rachel was acting a certain way because she actually felt it, or if it was just for the sake of dramatics. The fact that Rachel still wouldn't look her in the eye confirmed what Quinn already knew. This was not one of those times.

"It was an accident," Quinn told her with equal tenderness. Rachel met her eyes then, and the emotions she saw flash across her face in that short time were hard to take in. Confusion was primary, followed by hope, dashed by betrayal, and topped of with disbelief.

"I appreciate your admittance, Quinn," Rachel began. "But I can promise you I have no intention of attempting to get you in trouble, especially not after all this time has passed. What's done is done." Rachel shut her locker and shifted in preparation to take her leave of the conversation when Quinn's hand darted out and wrapped its way around the brunette's wrist.

"Rachel," Quinn hated the way her voice almost sounded as if she was pleading. "It was an accident." She could see the emotions pare down to hope and disbelief, but there was still conflict, so she kept on. "We were goofing around and the paint spilled. I didn't think you'd believe me, so I didn't tell anyone." _Hope, disbelief, hope, disbelief..._

"I'm sorry, Rachel."

In the moment she saw the girl's eyes flicker back to hope, and _stay_ there, Quinn came to an important realization. If her mother had thought she was sending Quinn a message by playing that stupid song over and over again while their lives fell apart, she had been wrong. The best apology wasn't temporary slushy relief, or a selfishly turned eye, or even a song. The best apology was an apology, with an unspoken but genuine promise of change. That was the most important thing she could give Rachel, and that's what she _wanted_ to give her.

* * *

"Thank you, Quinn."

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Rachel's lips. But more than that, she could feel a spark that had been missing inside of her for the past few months strike back up. Whatever had happened, whatever Quinn had done, it hadn't been on purpose. Rachel knew it wasn't hopeful naivety that was causing her to believe the other girl - she could see that Quinn was telling the truth. She recognized a sincerity in the blonde's eyes that she'd seen in her bedroom mirror every time she tried to sing away everything that was hurting her. Not even Quinn could fake that emotion. It was an accident, and she was _sorry_. For some reason, she wanted Rachel to know that. It didn't make everything better, but it was certainly a start, and Rachel couldn't expect any more than just that.

Again Rachel turned to leave, poised to go home and rethink her strategies for explaining away the lack of yearbook to her fathers.

"Wait!" Quinn called. Rachel pivoted on her heel, not missing a beat, returning the exclamation with a quizzical look.

"You didn't answer my question," she continued. "Would um, would you sign my yearbook?"

Rachel put on her best reassuring smile as she answered. "I appreciate the gesture, but your apology was quite sufficient. I hold no ill will towards you."

"It's not a gesture," came Quinn's earnest reply. "I want you to sign my yearbook, Rachel."

"Oh," the quietness was back in Rachel's voice now, even if it wasn't the same as before. She suddenly felt silly, faced with the realization that she had sabotaged her own yearbook photo after all, if not by ink stain, then by jumping to an unwarranted conclusion about the disarray of her clothing. Really she knew it _had_ been warranted, but it was difficult not to feel at least a little awkward in her present situation.

"I'm not in the yearbook," she finally told the girl.

"I know," Quinn's answer was instantaneous, as if it had been the motivation of their entire conversation from the very beginning. "But I'd really like it if you were in mine."

And with those words, Rachel Berry came to her own realization. She couldn't change what had happened yesterday, nor could she truly predict where tomorrow would go. But today seemed like the start of something truly different, and that...

That made today worth remembering.


End file.
